


until they found me

by writergirl8



Series: Stydia-fanfiction prompts [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Banter, Canon Compliant, Car Sex, College!Stydia, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Morning Sex, Porn with Feelings, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 09:41:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10682691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writergirl8/pseuds/writergirl8
Summary: “If you’re bored, Stiles, you can always make me come.”She says it in a light, airy voice, as if it’s not enough to make him choke on his own spit. Which, for the record, it is. When he looks up, he sees Lydia’s eyes tracing his biceps appreciatively as he continues to crank the jack. And seriously, bless his arms for making up for the twigs that he calls legs, because without them he’s pretty sure his girlfriend would be able to outlift him.“I’m bored,” he says immediately, setting down the jack and moving to stand up.---(Prompt: Stydia sexting.)





	until they found me

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Title from "Your Feet" by Pablo Neruda  
> 2\. Lydia is on birth control so Stiles and Lydia having sex without a condom doesn't mean she's about to get pregnant. They've been in a relationship with the same person for a long time and have mutually decided to have sex without a condom at a time before this fic began.  
> 3\. I'm terrible at sexting so sorry in advance for how bad this is.  
> 4\. Also I cried like 86 times while writing this.  
> 5\. Enjoy.  
> 6\. Don't make fun of me I'm injured and am currently on crutches  
> 7\. I love Lydia Martin so much??? I??? 
> 
> Special thanks to Claire (fudgythewhale) for looking over this for me.

_When I cannot look at your face_

_I look at your feet._

_Your feet of arched bone,_

_your hard little feet._

_I know that they support you,_

_and that your sweet weight_

_rises upon them._

* * *

"Now _this_ ," Lydia is saying, her voice full of mirth, " _this_ is the type of car problem that is absolutely normal."

From where he's crouching down in front of her car, Stiles turns to glare at Lydia, his brows crinkling with annoyance. She's got her seat back a little, her head tilted so that she has the best angle to watch him changing her tire. Her bare toes are wiggling out the window, still that same light-tacky blue that Malia had painted them a few days ago. Stiles had expected Lydia to immediately take it off, but he can still see the small sparkles embedded into the polish from where he's kneeling in front of Lydia's front passenger's side tire.

"This is the kind of car problem you get when you never do upkeep on your car," he tells her grumpily, grunting a little as he cranks the jack forward.

"Mmm, no, because cars that weren't manufactured in the 80s don't actually need constant maintenance."

"But what else would I do with all my spare time?"

His voice is sarcastic, but there's something darker underneath the cynicism— the reminder that the thing he does with his spare time isn't tire maintenance at all, but, in fact, is more along the lines of saving his best friends from constant danger, destruction, and turmoil.

"If you're bored, Stiles, you can always make me come."

She says it in a light, airy voice, as if it's not enough to make him choke on his own spit. Which, for the record, it is. When he looks up, he sees Lydia's eyes tracing his biceps appreciatively as he continues to crank the jack. And seriously, bless his arms for making up for the twigs that he calls legs, because without them he's pretty sure his girlfriend would be able to outlift him.

"I'm bored," he says immediately, setting down the jack and moving to stand up. Lydia laughs, sitting up in the seat and gently pushing his head back down to the tire.

"Focus, Stilinski," she admonishes playfully, crossing her arms on top of the rolled-down window and placing her chin on them. "Work, _then_ play."

He sighs as he leans forward and loosens the last lugnuts on her tire.

"Fine, but playtime isn't allowed to involve me on my knees today. I think I've got pebbles literally embedded into my flesh." He makes eye contact so that she can see how disgruntled he is. "Do you see how I suffer for you?"

"We'll find something else to do," she says. "Does Candyland sound good to you, or are you more of a Monopoly boy?"

"As if I'd ever play Monopoly with you. Please. You'd destroy me."

He's pulling the tire off and shoving it to the side, brushing dirt off of his hands before he looks around for the spare that he'd put in Lydia's trunk more than two years ago, back when they were juniors and he'd been able to pretend that the jumper cables he'd bought her were for the good of the pack, not for the good of "I want you to be able to call me so that I can jump you and then after that you might let me jump you."

Now that he's jumping her on the regular, Stiles still stands by that plan. It was a good plan. Probably not as good a plan as telling her he loved her just before he got kidnapped by crazy ghost cowboys, but close enough.

"How about you finish changing that tire and then I can play with your joystick?"

He blinks.

"Holy shit, Lydia."

She starts laughing at the look on his face, the warm summer sun caressing the skin on her chest as she tilts her head back and closes her eyes, seeming so satisfied with herself that Stiles can't help the way the disbelief on his face melts to happiness.

Sometimes, over the course of their first year apart, he'd been worried that Lydia Martin, with her parts that are made to shift and change and improve in any situation, would finally realize that the most advantageous relationship to be in was not a one with a Stiles Stilinski who was living several states away. He'd had isolated, stressful nights during which he had been worried that she'd forget, with the distance between them, the way the two of them fit together.

Now that they're back at home, he doesn't know why he'd even had one of those stressful nights. From the way she's been spending every single evening in his bed, curled up at his side with one of his t-shirts thrown over herself, blabbering on to Stiles about something she'd studied over the course of the year.

He doesn't know if he's ever going to shake away his anxiety at the idea of living in a world where Lydia doesn't love him. Now that he knows what it's like to have her, conceptualizing going back feels impossible. But she's sitting in the passenger's seat of her car and watching him change a tire and they've been together for more than a year and she's chosen him every day of that year. She knows who he is and she keeps on coming home to him.

So when he stands up and ducks his head under the window, he very seriously murmurs, "you're perfect," before stretching the rest of the way to kiss her lips. It's just _true_ , even though it isn't. He knows when she's being obstinate and when she's being too aloof. He knows that sometimes she acts superior and that she's often too quick to anger. He knows her faults and he knows her flaws and he still loves her so much that it breaks his heart, in some ways.

You shouldn't be able to love someone as much as Stiles Stilinski loves Lydia Martin.

"Screw the tire," Lydia responds, threading her fingers into his hair and pulling him closer. "You win."

She opens the car door for him, then slides into the backseat so that he can get into the car.

"What were we playing?" Stiles asks as Lydia pulls her skirt down her legs, leaving her in a black tank-top and a pair of panties that match her toes. He tumbles into the car after her like he's under hypnosis, slamming the door shut and locking it before he finally winds up in the backseat.

"Who cares?" murmurs Lydia as he covers her lips with his. She kisses him back mindlessly for a few moments, then seems to wake herself up and kick into gear, reaching for the bottom of his shirt with an efficiency that almost causes him to crack up. "I'm going to suck you off."

Her hands are already at the button on his jeans, working them open and tugging at them until they slide far enough for her to get to his cock.

"If I ever say that's _not_ okay, that's an impersonator and you should knock him out and then, like, tie him up and bring him to Scott and— well, by then I'm assuming you'll have invented some sort of truth serum? So you can ask him who he is, right, and then also where I am, and then you can come rescue me and blow me and— oh _fuck_ , Lydia."

She'd just taken him in her mouth, impatient with his long, meandering rambling, and she'd sucked him as deep as she could on the first try.

"Noted," she replies before licking a clean strip up the underside of his dick and then letting her mouth engulf him again. Stiles forces his eyes to stay open as Lydia bobs her head up and down him a few times, her eyes meeting his briefly before they flutter closed. Something snaps into place inside of him at that, and Stiles lets out a quiet, wrecked moan, watching as Lydia spreads her saliva all around his dick.

Lydia Martin is deadly when it comes to blow jobs, even when they're crowded into the back of her car, and from the smirk that he can see sparkling in her eyes, Stiles knows that she knows it.

"Oh god, Lydia, your mouth is fucking ridiculous," he moans. "So warm and… and… oh, fuck, Lyds, you look so good like that, with all your hair all messy, I just… fuckfuck _fuck_."

She'd hummed her thanks against his skin, moving it up and down while focusing on rubbing her tongue on a particularly sensitive spot. Stiles' hips notch up a little, his dick sliding deeper into her mouth, and Lydia pulls off as punishment, letting her mouth drift teasingly around the tip. She increases the intensity of her sucking, just to drive him crazy, and that's when Stiles finally notices the hand she has between her legs, rubbing circles under her panties.

This time, he moans louder, his unsteady hands reaching out to stroke her hair, tucking it behind her ear.

"You're killing me, Martin."

Her chest is heaving as she replies, "That's the intention, Stilinski."

"Shut up and make yourself come." She snorts at his tone of voice. Stiles pushes on. "And then I'm gonna lick up everything you have for me and sit you down on my cock and give you exactly what you want."

"How do you know what I want?" asks Lydia, her hand sliding up and down his shaft, rubbing her spit into him.

"I don't," he replies, and she frowns, a little surprised by the admittance. "I'm gonna give you something that isn't enough until you're begging me to fuck you exactly the way you're thinking about right now, in your head."

"Oh god," she groans before lowering her head back onto his dick and sucking him until he comes in her mouth. He watches her, waiting for her throat to bob, showing that she's swallowed him down, but the motion never comes. Instead, she opens her mouth, revealing his cum on her tongue, and then swipes her fingers through it, gathering it up. Only then does she swallow as she settles against the door on the opposite side of the car, spreading her legs for Stiles and sliding her hand into her panties, letting out an almost hurt moan as her cum-covered fingers brush against her clit.

"Shit," Stiles says, watching it, and then he's snatching her fingers from her panties and is sucking them into his mouth, eyes fluttering closed as he laps at their combined flavors.

"Stiles," Lydia says frantically, the warning clear in her voice, and it's just about as good as begging, making it easy for Stiles to shift onto his stomach and pull the fabric of her panties to the side.

"Just let me get hard again, okay?" he says softly, giving her one of his fingers. Lydia squeezes around it, desperate, but it isn't enough. "You want another one?" She nods, eyes wide, and he pulls out the first finger to look at it before adding the second. "Christ, you're so wet for me, Lyds."

She's riding his fingers now, her eyes shut, her mouth hanging open. She's scrunching her cheeks adorably, like she's focusing on a problem that needs to be solved, but instead of chasing an answer, she's chasing an orgasm.

And Stiles totally wants her to get that orgasm, he really, _really_ does, which is why he almost screams when his phone starts buzzing with a call, distracting both of them from what they're doing. He reaches into his jeans and turns it off without looking, then continues pumping his fingers through Lydia. It rings again. He turns it off again.

Unsurprisingly, it starts ringing once more.

Now even more frustrated than before, Stiles pulls the phone out of his pocket to see who he has to kill and sees Scott's name on the display.

"It could be an emergency," Lydia points out breathlessly, because they're in Beacon Hills, and more than one situation like this has been interrupted by some sort of supernatural emergency.

"Nice. That'll be good practice for everybody else to learn how to take care of stuff while you and I are on a sexcation," he says, brows furrowing in concentration as he crooks his fingers upwards. Lydia makes a quiet noise at the back of her throat and drops her head back against the window, her hand diving for her clit.

This time, it's her phone that goes off.

He can tell that she's on the verge of bitching Scott out for calling so many times, but there's still patience in her voice when she lifts the phone to her ear and speaks.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Lydia!" comes Scott's voice through the tinny speaker. "Have you heard from Stiles? He was supposed to be at my house, like, an hour and a half ago."

Oh. Right. He'd promised Scott that they could have a sleepover because usually he has sleepovers with Lydia now, not his pizza-loving, video-game-playing best friend.

Shit.

Would it be easier to just wear a sticker on his forehead that reads _Hi, I'm a dick_ or would that be too much?

"He's right here with me actually," replies Lydia chirpily. "I got a flat tire on our way back from lunch and Stiles was just fixing it for me— that's why he's late."

"Oh!" Scott's voice is so relieved that Stiles actually finds it in himself to feel guilty, despite what his best friend had interrupted. "I'm glad he's safe."

"Me too," Lydia says tenderly, ruffling Stiles' hair. He grins rakishly from where he lies between her legs. "He'll be with you in half an hour, okay?"

"Awesome! Yeah, that's great!"

"Bye, Scott." Lydia ends the call, not meeting Stiles' eyes. "Soooo… that was Scott."

"Lydia."

"He _misses_ you."

" _Lydia_."

"I could hear it in his voice, he really wants to see you. And I, currently, see… well." She gestures towards him. "More than enough of you."

"Just enough," Stiles says, pouting despite the fact that he knows she's right.

"Just… change the tire."

He wants to protest, but she's already reaching for her skirt, pulling it up over her hips and wiggling it back into place.

"We were doing something, Lydia."

"And we can do something tomorrow morning after your sleepover with Scott."

He squints at her, trying not to feel annoyed.

"You know, this 'selfless' thing you've got going is really killing my buzz," complains Stiles. Lydia pauses, her brows twitching downward even as her mouth tilts up. "What?"

The softness of her voice when she speaks makes his heart stutter a little bit.

"I don't think anybody's ever called me selfless before."

She doesn't meet his eyes when she says it, but Stiles kisses her cheek, a little sloppy and silly and careless because that always makes Lydia laugh. Sure enough, her mouth curves upwards again and she turns her face towards him, leaning up to peck him on the lips quietly.

"Thanks for playing with my joystick," Stiles mumbles against her.

Lydia is still trying to hide her smile when he gets out of the car and finishes changing her tire.

* * *

_When I cannot look at your face_

_I look at your feet._

_Your feet of arched bone,_

_your hard little feet._

_I know that they support you,_

_and that your sweet weight_

_rises upon them._

_**Your waist and your breasts,** _

_**the doubled purple** _

_**of your nipples,** _

_**the sockets of your eyes** _

_**that have just flown away,** _

* * *

Everything goes fine until 2am.

Stiles had expected to spend the whole night hot, bothered, and distracted by the mere thought of a Lydia Martin who is somewhere in Beacon Hills, horny and frustrated because of _him_. It's a thought that distracts him even when he's halfway across the country, so it should be no surprise that the lingering taste of her on his tongue doesn't vanish from his thoughts even after he washes it down with some pizza.

But Scott has always been his best friend and the most important person. Once Stiles takes two steps into the McCall household and smells the familiar and comforting scent that only belongs to this place, he's easily distracted from his woes. Pretty soon, the two of them are perched languidly on bean bags with cheese puffs shoved into their mouths, yelling out good-natured insults about each other's gaming skills.

Scott falls asleep around 1:30, and although Stiles is familiar with being the only one awake while his best friend is passed out next to him, it feels a little different this time. Because in high school, when this happened, he didn't have a very clear picture in his head of what Lydia looks like with her finger buried in her pussy. And, to be honest, that vivid image is making it difficult to concentrate on anything else.

He rolls out of his beanbag, pausing the movie he'd only half been paying attention to, and nabs his phone from the floor before ducking into the bathroom across the hall from Scott's room. It's 2am, so probably the best thing to do would be to establish Lydia's level of wakefulness in order to figure out whether or not talking to her would disturb her from getting some much needed sleep. With that in mind, he very carefully types out his text.

_SS: u up?_

_LM: Yes._

_LM: Unfortunately._

_SS: What are you thinking about_

He waits a long time before he receives her next message.

_LM: You._

_SS: Shit. I didn't even have to bribe you to say that._

_LM: That's because I can't stop thinking about you._

Aaaand there's the opening he was looking for. Honestly, it's like Lydia had handed it to him on a silver platter. Bless this girl. Usually there's more build up to them sexting, but Stiles isn't going to complain.

_SS: What about me?_

_LM: Your mouth, if you must know._

_SS: I must, in fact._

_LM: Well then. I'm thinking about the way your mouth left me hot and dripping in the passenger's seat of my car earlier today._

Lydia always teases him because his normal text messages involve multiple typos, emojis, and zero effort in capitalization. When it comes to sexting, however, there is absolutely no way Stiles is going to kill the mood with an acronym that makes Lydia roll her eyes. With that in mind, he plops himself onto Scott's bathroom sink and prepares to go hard.

_SS: Sounds like quite a predicament, Miss Martin._

_LM: Oh, it was. I haven't been able to wear panties since then._

Rude.

_SS: That'll make it easier for me to get my mouth on you the next time I see you._

_LM: No. I don't want that._

_LM: I want your cock so badly, Stiles._

He sucks in a breath at how plain her words are. This isn't flirting or teasing. This is as close to begging as Lydia Martin gets.

_SS: You can have it if you can make yourself come for me right now._

_LM: How do you want me to?_

He thinks for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip. Pictures Lydia lying in her bed at home, eyes eagerly trained on the screen, chest heaving at the intensity of waiting for so long. He pictures her finger lightly rubbing circles around her nipple, patient with herself despite the impatience of her body.

_SS: Depends. How many times have you made yourself come already today?_

_LM: Just twice._

_SS: "Just."_

So it's the third time. She's going to be sensitive. She's going to need something a bit harder to get her there.

_SS: I want you completely naked on your bed, Lydia. Just lie there open and think about me seeing you like that. Think about how I'm waiting for you._

_LM: Consider it done._

_SS: And then I want you to play with your tits while you decide what you would want if I was there with you_. _Think about it. Take your time._

He unbuttons and unzips his jeans while he waits for her to text back, feeling more or less like a kid in a candy store.

_LM: I think I'd sit on your cock._

_LM: I'd settle down on top of you and let my tits rub against your chest as I ground down on you. Did I ever tell you how much I like that? It feels so good when my nipples rub against your skin_

_SS: I like that too, Lyds._

_LM: I'd pull you in so deep because my body's been missing yours so much. God, Stiles. Every time we fuck I remember what it was like to go without you for so long and I get so wet for you. You'd be so deep inside of me, lying underneath my body and I'd be able to actually feel those sounds you make as they rumble through your chest._

Oh holy fuck. Now that is just _not_ fair. He's at Scott's; he can't get off, this is about _Lydia,_ for the love of—

_LM: I would kiss your cheeks and your lips and your chin and then, suddenly, I would stop. I would sit on your cock and wait for you to take over, to start jerking yourself up into me and making me take you._

How much noise would it make if he leaped out the window? Would that wake up the McCalls?

Yeah. Probably. And Scott would understand, but Melissa would probably be pissed about the broken glass.

_SS: I'd have to fuck you hard though, Lydia, because you teased me. I'd drive myself into you over and over again, and I wouldn't care about how deep I went, I would care about watching you bounce on top of me as our skin slapped together._

Take that, Martin.

_LM: Tell me what to do right now. Just tell me._

_SS: Slide your hand all the way down your breasts and then your stomach. I want your legs up, your heels by your ass and your head off your pillow. Just close your eyes and pretend it's me. Slide your hand into yourself and don't fucking tease yourself like you like to. Just rub yourself until you can't take missing me anymore, and then slide your fingers into yourself when it's not enough._

_SS: Except it isn't, it's not gonna be, because what do you really want Lydia?_

_LM: You_

_SS: What about me?_

_LM: I want you_

_SS: You've been thinking about it for hours, haven't you? Wet for me for hours?_

_LM: yes_

_SS: I love the way your pussy feels when you're dripping like that. Next time I see you, I'm gonna fuck you just like you asked me to. I'm gonna come inside you and then you're gonna sit on my face so I can taste us. And I'll be able to feel your wet pussy on my tongue and lips and fingers as you cry out and come all over my face._

There isn't a reply for a long time, which makes a slow, long smirk spread across his lips. Because all's fair in love and sexting, and Stiles has always fought dirty.

_LM: Wow._

_SS: Good mental image?_

_LM: Good orgasm._

_SS: You sleepy now?_

_LM: Suddenly exhausted._

_SS: How 'bout that?_

_LM: I'll see you tomorrow?_

_SS: Yeah._

_SS; I love you so much._

_SS: Goodnight._

It's nearly 3am by the time Stiles guiltily drags his ass out to Scott's bedroom. His best friend is still asleep in the beanbag chair, so Stiles drops onto Scott's bed and stares at the ceiling. It's several moments before he realizes that he's grinning like an idiot. He turns over, punches the pillow that he'd brought, and thinks about tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Another day of being in love with Lydia Martin.

Seems like he's going to be having a lifetime of those.

* * *

_When I cannot look at your face_

_I look at your feet._

_Your feet of arched bone,_

_your hard little feet._

_I know that they support you,_

_and that your sweet weight_

_rises upon them._

_Your waist and your breasts,_

_the doubled purple_

_of your nipples,_

_the sockets of your eyes_

_that have just flown away,_

_**your wide fruit mouth,** _

_**your red tresses,** _

_**my little tower.** _

* * *

The sun is high in the sky as Stiles pulls his jeep into his driveway, squinting in the bright afternoon light. He's got on a pair of sunglasses that he'd stolen off of Scott's dresser, as well as a mug of coffee that he'd snuck out of the kitchen cabinets. It's cold by now, but Stiles still takes a long sip as he unlocks the door to the house and nudges the door open with his hip.

His dad's always got weekend afternoon shifts— usually ones to catch up on paperwork from over-enthused high school students who have no concept of the danger of late-night drinking binges in a town of supernatural creatures— so he's unsurprised to see the coffee maker full of cooling coffee. After a whole night with Scott, he's definitely going to need some caffeine to get through today. Stiles pours himself more coffee, despite the fact that Scott, his dad, _and_ Lydia all forbid him from drinking it, and heads over to his bedroom to hopefully get some work done.

At first, his eyes go right to his desk, scanning it to make sure his laptop's there. They find the laptop, then drift slightly to the side when he notices a light green shirt and a pair of shorts neatly folded onto his chair. He frowns in confusion, gaze sliding over to his bed to find a pale body lying there.

Lydia's hair is natural right now— not straightened, not curled. It falls in waves across his covers as her chest rises and falls rhythmically. She's got her head on his pillow and her arm curled around the other one that he keeps on his bed for her, hugging it to her chest. Underneath the fluffy pillow, Stiles can just make out the lacy material of her bra which perfectly matches her underwear.

Without another thought, he kneels on the bed and crawls over to her, setting the mug of coffee on his bedside table. There's a book lying open next to her, which Stiles closes and tosses to the floor so that he can wiggle closer to Lydia. Her eyes slowly open, squinting at him in the bright sunlight, almost seeming surprised to see him.

"Hey," Stiles says, brushing her hair back and kissing her on the forehead. "Good morning."

"Hi," Lydia respond, voice thick with sleep. "Your dad let me in."

"I see that." He lets his hand drift from her shoulder to her hip, rubbing his thumb over her underwear. "You got all dressed up for me, huh?"

She nods sleepily, nose rubbing against his pillow.

"But you didn't come home and I fell back asleep."

His voice is gravelly as he says, "Sorry I made you wait."

Lydia's eyes flutter closed again. She turns over onto her back, her arm sliding upwards and then falling above her head, the motion pushing her chest out.

"You can make it up to me," she murmurs, touching his left hand with her right and moving it onto her panties. Stiles takes the hint, holding his breath as he slides the them down her legs and guides her feet out of them. Lydia sighs as he throws the panties to the side, spreading her legs for him, and for a moment, Stiles just stares at her body. The sun is dancing across her pale skin, and for some reason, with Lydia like this, it looks like it's earlier in the morning than it is. It feels like their own pocket of endless time: soft like her skin, sweet like her tongue as it flutters against his.

Stiles takes off his shirt, then bends over to press kisses against Lydia's stomach, spending an extra-long time with his mouth against the spot that is bathed in sunlight. His hands are on the button on his jeans as he kisses her breasts where they are spilling over the top of her bra before sliding his nose between the valley of them and taking a moment to breathe. A small hand comes down to stroke his hair, comforting him and pulling him closer simultaneously.

There's the sound of his pants pooling together on the ground and then Stiles spreads Lydia's legs, lifting himself off of her so that he can kneel between them. He brings her closer, letting her legs laze across the sharp angles of his hipbones. He grips himself carefully before sliding into her.

Stiles pauses a few inches in, just watching Lydia tilt her hips up to him ever so slightly, her eyes remaining closed. Then he pushes the rest of the way into her wet, heat-soaked center, his throat constricting as he bottoms out inside of her. Lydia's lips part, her brows tensing almost imperceptibly before he slides out and pushes back in. Suddenly, she relaxes. The two of them are silent as Stiles slides in and out of Lydia slowly, watching her body accept his over and over and over again.

Lydia's eyelashes brush against her skin. He breathes out.

He thinks to himself, watching her lay bare and vulnerable to him, that he would do anything for her. It's not an unfamiliar sentiment, but it's one that he feels hyper-aware of as Lydia's walls clench around him. She's this tiny person lying on his bed, but she feels _endless_ to him. He has never known anyone who has as much power as Lydia does, and yet here she is, offering him power over _her._

No. No, you shouldn't be allowed to love someone as much as he loves her. And yet he is fully willing to be reckless, fully willing to dive headfirst into the fire, fully willing to call the queen of his chessboard a princess and kiss her on the nose.

When he gets lost in her body like this, he also gets lost in his head, drowning in something that feels too big to be considered as trite as mere affection or intimacy or love.

This, right here, is something else. This is uncontainable.

"Lydia," he murmurs brokenly, and then her breaths are louder as he lifts her leg onto his shoulder. Stiles strokes her smooth ankle, watching her chest arch higher as small breaths drift from her lips like rings of smoke curling through the air, engulfing both of them.

He comes when Lydia opens her eyes and immediately lets her gaze vanish into his.

For a moment, he remains inside of her, panting slightly as he watches her. Then he turns his head to the right so that he can press a kiss against the hard, knobby bone that protrudes from her ankle, and lets her leg fall back onto the bed.

Lydia silently keeps her eyes on his as Stiles bends at the waist, walking forward on his hands to reach her. He leans down, chastely kissing her bottom lip as he begins circling his fingers around her clit. She'd been close before, and now he has to keep a hand pressed gently against her pelvis to keep her hips from twisting on the bed. To give her something to focus on, Stiles pries her mouth open with his lips before moving back and rolling his tongue into her mouth, letting it slowly slide up her tongue. Lydia whimpers and does the same to him as she reaches up to tightly grip his hair, clinging onto him. Stiles presses down harder against her clit and she cries out, her chest pressing against his as her shoulders bend backwards against the bed.

"Well," Stiles says eventually, sliding out of her and falling next to her on the bed. "That was kind of awesome."

He scoops her closer to him, dragging her so that her nose is nudging against his collarbone. Her knees— raised towards her chest a little— nudge against his abdomen, and Lydia carefully shifts one leg over his hip, mimicking the position they had just been in.

Stiles nuzzles into her hairline, his heart lifting and fluttering, beating her name against his chest.

"Stiles," Lydia says, speaking for the first time in a while. "You called me selfless."

He looks down at the tiny redhead whose face is staring at his chest.

"I know I did," he says, confused.

"I've been wondering… well. I guess I've been wondering if you really see me that way."

He feels as he always does in moments like this one— divided between being a kid and a man. The boy who is stuck in a scrawny body that has only been on this earth for eighteen years, and the man who has always, every day of his life, been certain of his love for Lydia. He doesn't know why he had felt it so deeply in his gut when he barely knew her, but it's the thing that made him offer to die for her; it's the thing that would make him kill again, if he had to. And both parts of him nudge together at the small, vulnerable voice with which Lydia speaks. Both of them rush to save her because she is asking to be saved.

"I do," Stiles replies without preface. "I didn't always. But I do."

Her face falls.

"Oh."

"Lydia," Stiles says softly. "Do you know how much I love you for the fact that you weren't always like this?" She meets his eyes and shakes her head back and forth, staring at him. "You grew into this person who cares so fucking much about people she's never even met. Like, you want to save lives of people who are completely insignificant to you. You go out of your way, you put yourself at risk… you never would've done that a few years ago, y'know? Like, your self-preservation instincts used to be the part of you that I admired most because you were _insane_ , you would do anything for it. But now you're just as clever, just as brilliant, just as calculating, but you're not doing it for yourself anymore. You're doing it for other people. And that, Lydia… God. That's just fucking amazing. I thought I wasn't good enough for you when were younger, but it's like every single day you just show me how incredible you are. All the shit that's happened to you? It made you _kind_ , Lydia. It made you loyal. It made you work even harder. And I swear, I don't know a single other person alive who's done what you have. Okay?"

Lydia stares at him for a moment, speechless, and then she moves forward to lightly brush her lips over his left eyelid then his right.

"The reason I'm who I am right now," she whispers against his mouth, "is because of you. You made me feel welcome in the pack… you made me feel like I was a part of it, Stiles, and that's something that I can never, ever repay you for no matter how hard I try."

"You don't owe me anything," he tells her, voice scratchy.

"I owe you _everything_ ," replies Lydia, words rife with emotion. "I owe you every hug from Kira and smile from Scott and—" She stops talking, ducking her head softly. "Stiles. You saved my life too."

"Lydia—"

"Remember?" she asks urgently. Her hand slides up his chest, through the smattering of hair on his sternum, over his chin, over the moles on the side of his face. Her hand cups his cheek, gentle. He thinks about her voice, so many years ago— _I didn't catch any of that. Is it worth repeating?_

And god, he feels full. So fucking full.

"Yeah," Stiles rasps. "I remember."

* * *

_When I cannot look at your face_

_I look at your feet._

_Your feet of arched bone,_

_your hard little feet._

_I know that they support you,_

_and that your sweet weight_

_rises upon them._

_Your waist and your breasts,_

_the doubled purple_

_of your nipples,_

_the sockets of your eyes_

_that have just flown away,_

_your wide fruit mouth,_

_your red tresses,_

_my little tower._

_**But I love your feet** _

_**only because they walked** _

_**upon the earth and upon** _

_**the wind and upon the waters,** _

**until they found me.**

_-Your Feet, Pablo Neruda_


End file.
